Gemotions

The mailbox stood open, a metal maw waiting to swallow its contents. Michael trudged over, kicking a small pebble down the sidewalk. His birthday. Another one. The card, with a whimsical design, was a punch to the gut. The absence of a name, the lack of personal touch, fueled the ache.

He threw the card into the overflowing trash can in his kitchen, the metallic clang a brief punctuation mark in the silence. The apartment felt suffocating, the walls closing in.

He sank into his armchair, the fabric worn and uninviting. He closed his eyes, imagining the celebrations he’d never have, the wishes unspoken, the warmth of belonging that was always just out of reach.